Lost
by Dejah
Summary: Rick Riddick finally has a place where he's accepted and cared for. When his best friend dies, Rick's future is decided for him. Chapters 2/2 . Pre-Pitch Black.
1. Chapter One

****

The Lost

__

Chapter One

"Don't."

"I have to."

"No you don't. Just stay here."

The two boys were crouched low in the alley. It was dark and damp. Rats could be heard rummaging in the garbage. Rick was just thankful that the alley didn't stink too bad. The smells of trash were in the air but nothing else. No urine. No feces. Just trash. That was because a good portion of the neighborhood used the alley as a throughway and didn't want to walk through anything worse than rotting food.

Not that there was much of that. Food in a neighborhood like this was often a rare commodity, coming and going for one family or another. You don't throw out food that might be your last meal for a long time, even if it was starting to turn. No one around there could afford a food synth like the middle and upper classes living six or seven blocks south, stretching on into pale perfection. Those people even fed their plants. In this neighborhood you were lucky to have weeds for grass.

"He's drunk." Rick said it matter-of-factly. He wasn't looking down on the man for that. He was looking down on him because Kyle had come to school with half his face swollen, one eye closed and unable to blink. It was weeping now, from beneath the swelling. Rick pretended not to notice that Kyle's good eye was weeping as well.

Rick had been in and out of assorted foster homes all his life, so he was no stranger to beatings and pain. In the past four years, though, he'd been living with the Vibbard family. He was one of three foster kids living in the house. The Vibbards had two of their own kids; a boy and a girl. Twins his own age, Rick had been expecting snide comments and underhanded torture from the pair.

Wary of the kindness of strangers from past experience, Rick had been decidedly skeptic about them both. When they'd turned out to be genuinely kind and giving Rick had been confused and surprised. They'd offered to share everything, even their friendship and the love of their parents. Dale and Linda Vibbard were warm and caring. They usually kept kids until they came of age and cried when they left.

Most of their "kids" went on to some form of further education after leaving high school. Most were very successful in life. He would be kid number thirteen when he left. Rick hoped it was a lucky number.

The oldest foster kid in the house, Rick had taken on a protective role of the other two. A boy and a girl, orphaned in one of the colony battles then sent back to Earth to hopefully stay with relatives. Relatives not the least bit interested in two small children without money.

When Rick had met Kyle he'd thought him lucky. Real parents. He had nicer clothes that a lot of the kids at school. Much better clothes than the Vibbards could afford for Rick to wear. Rick wasn't jealous of anyone, though, and had no reason to be jealous of the Vibbards real children. All of them wore hand-me-downs and thrift store clothes.

But Kyle's clothes were borderline expensive, which didn't often happen in this neighborhood. Clothes didn't mean anything, though. Neither did having both parents. Rick realized that when he saw Kyle limping through gym class, wearing long sleeves and sweat pants instead of a t-shirt and shorts as he usually did. In the locker room, Kyle had shown Rick the bruises on his arms and legs. On his ribs and stomach and back. Kyle's dad had beaten him with a led pipe and then kicked him down the stairs because Kyle hadn't put away a vid chip he'd watched earlier.

That wasn't the last time Rick saw Kyle limp. He got bruised and beaten close to every other day by his father, while his mother stood by and whimpered. She was beaten often, too, but never as severely as Kyle. Rick wished he was bigger and older. He'd kill Kyle's dad himself.

Now the two of them crouched in the alley bordering Kyle's house and the Styles' house next door. They could both see Kyle's dad, Evan, storming around the house. He was screaming about something, but they couldn't make out what. When they both heard Evan swear and holler out Kyle's name, Kyle ducked and wrapped his arms around his middle, shuddering a bit.

A bat smashed into a window overlooking the alley and glass shattered everywhere. Evan's voice suddenly became horrifyingly clear.

"Where is that dirty little fuck? Eh?"

The sound of stomping feet and a hard hand meeting soft flesh. A cry and a thump as a body hit the floor. A whimper as the pain and shock of the situation hit home. Evan was beating on Kyle's mom, Glenna.

"This house is filthy! Where's my fuckin' dinner, whore?" Another thud, maybe as Evan kicked Glenna while she was down. "That damn son of a whore should be here, cleanin' up this mess!"

"No," Kyle whispered, his voice hoarse. "I cleaned the house this mornin', Rick. I swear I did. Dusted and washed and swept. Everything. I could see my reflection on every surface. He musta messed it up." A shudder passed hard through Kyle's body. "I woke up extra early, just to make sure everything was perfect."

"You don't have to tell me," Rick said back. "I know you bust your ass for him." And he busts your head in appreciation, he thought to himself.

Kyle took a deep, shaking breath and nodded. "Yeah. You're a good friend, Rick. The best."

"So stay at my place tonight. Let him calm down. Let the Vibbards call someone to tell them your dad is doing this to you and your mom."

"I can't. It'll just be worse in the morning. I just should have been home earlier. Made sure the house stayed clean..."

"You can't blame what he does on yourself, Kyle. He's a man, and you're a kid. He has no right to hit you."

Kyle shook his head. "You don't understand. You've never had a dad that-" Kyle paused, frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant. And you're right, I've never had a dad. But I've had a lot of foster dads, and up until Dale, every last one of them beat me black and blue or used me for slave labor." Or other things, but Rick didn't want to tell Kyle that.

Kyle hung his head and nodded. "I'm sorry. I know. You're one of the few people that do understand. It's just me that doesn't seem to get it."

"So come with me tonight. C'mon. How much worse can it get? For Christ's sake, Kyle. The bastard's in there with a fuckin' baseball bat."

"I have to go in there. He'll kill Mom if I don't."

"I'll come in with you, then."

Kyle looked at Rick like he was crazy. "You're nuts. And let him beat you up too?"

Rick shook his head. "He won't touch me. I'll kill him first."

"No. You can't. It'll just make it worse. Please, Rick. Just go home. I'll be okay." Kyle tried to look optimistic. "C'mon. I survived the pipe, remember?"

"Yeah, and the knife wound, and three concussions in a year," Rick added stubbornly. He couldn't let Kyle go into that mess. He had to be there for him.

Kyle's jaw went hard and a muscle flexed in his cheek. "I'm going in there to help Mom and you're going home. I'll see you tomorrow." Then he stood up and started walking around to the front of the house, hands stuffed deep in his jeans pockets.

"Kyle, wait!" Rick hissed, reaching for Kyle's arm. His fingers grazed the sleeve of the thin, black leather jacket that spoke volumes about how much money Kyle's family made compared to the other families in the neighborhood. He grazed the leather, but he missed the arm inside, and Kyle ignored him and walked around the corner to the front door.

Rick stood in the dark for a moment, listening intently to Evan railing away inside. To Glenna whimpering in a corner somewhere. He heard the front door open and close as Kyle entered the house. Heard Evan go quiet as he realized his son was home.

"Dad?" Kyle's voice, coming from the window. Rick pictured them facing each other, Glenna somewhere on the floor in between them, the bat hefted in Evan's hand, Kyle's hands clenched into fists. Rick prayed he'd fight back this time.

"There you are, you little fuck." Evan's voice, harsh and angry.

"I'm sorry the house is messy. I'll clean it all up right now."

"I told you to clean this fuckin' mess this morning, didn't I?" Footsteps crossing the space that must lie between the man and the boy. Rick knew how Evan liked to get up in Kyle's face, breathe into his nostrils with his foul, alcoholic breath.

"Yes, Dad. I should have done better. I'm sorry." Kyle knew arguing would never help him in the face of Evan's unreasonable anger.

Rick was more than a little surprised when he heard what Evan said next.

"Clean the god damn house and then get in bed. You have school in the morning. And get your mother off the floor, she's getting the carpet wet." His footsteps receded deeper into the house and Rick let out a sigh of relief before turning toward his own house and heading home.

**__**

The Next Day:

"Rick?" Someone shaking him. "Rick, c'mon, boy, wake up."

Rick rolled over and swatted at the person next to him, groaning and growling deep in his throat. "What?"

It was Dale Vibbard, shaking him awake. The sun was peaking up and Rick caught a glimpse of the clock on his bedside table. Time for school.

"Get up, buddy. Gotta get ready for another day of wonderful learning." Dale's voice was a little too chipper for Rick but he swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood up anyways, cracking his neck and shoulders with practiced ease.

Rick really didn't mind going to school. He actually liked it. He'd always been quick at learning, especially in subjects like math and science. His Literature and English teachers were also extremely impressed by his progress. He'd won a number of awards and had even heard that some of the local colleges were looking at him for scholarship. His life was better than it had ever been.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Rick grabbed the clothes he'd laid out the night before from his desk chair, snagged his towel from the bedpost, and stepped into the hallway. He had to push past Liddy and Jacob, the other two foster kids, who were shoving each other around and laughing, before getting to the bathroom door. He tried the knob but the door was locked. He listened carefully and noticed that the shower wasn't running but the lights were definitely on inside.

"Karen?" he called through the door, jiggling the knob.

"Yeah?"

He'd been right. Karen was in the bathroom, probably trying to pretty herself up. Ever since the three of them had started high school, she'd been getting more girly on him and her brother Eddie. They were all late for school way too often now. Unfortunately, Eddie wasn't much better. He had to make sure his hair was perfect and that his cologne smelled just right.

Rick's morning regime consisted of a five minute shower, shaving, brushing his teeth, and putting on deodorant. It was spicy and that was good enough for him. His hair was cropped close to his head and he didn't even really have to comb it if he didn't want to. A little hair gloss and it was nice and shiny. He sometimes thought about just shaving it all off. He figured he'd look alright like that.

"Could you hurry up? I don't want to be late for school again."

"Yeah, Rick. I'm almost done."

Rick signed. He'd heard that before. For once, though, Karen was telling the truth. A minute later she was out of the bathroom, leaving a streak of jasmine scent in her wake. Rick shook his head and went into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

When he got out of the bathroom, Rick headed for the kitchen and grabbed his lunch and breakfast from the counter. Linda Vibbard was just finishing up Liddy and Jacob's lunches as he aimed for the door.

"You heading out already, Rick?" she called to him.

"Yeah. Mr. Van Dyke said he's got a couple papers on a college seminar coming up soon and if I go and do the paperwork for it I can get college credit. I want to look the stuff over and make sure it's not over my head."

Linda smiled affectionately at him. "Rick, there isn't a lot that is over your head. I'm sure it'll go great for you."

"Thanks, Linda. I'll see you after school. Oh, and is it alright if Kyle comes over for dinner?"

"Of course."

"Great. Okay, I'm gone."

Rick pushed through the backdoor and crossed the street to the same alley him and Kyle had been crouching in the night before. The glass from the broken window had been cleaned up already and there was a van in front of the house advertising cheap window replacement.

Evan was standing in the driveway, arms crossed over his chest. He had a black eye.

Stealing himself for Evan's abrasive attitude, Rick crossed the driveway to stand before the man. Despite Rick's age, he was almost as big as Evan and sported more muscles than any of the other boys at school. "Is Kyle here?" he asked, meeting Evan's black eyes with his own.

Evan narrowed his good eye, squinted his bad. "No. He already left. Something about a seminar."

Rick frowned. Kyle was supposed to walk with him to the school so they could go to Mr. Van Dyke's classroom together. "Oh. Okay. I'll just see him at school then."

"You do that." 

The comment was rude and unnecessary, but Rick shrugged it off and started on the short walk to school.

Mr. Van Dyke was sitting at his desk when Rick entered the classroom. There were two stacks of discs in front of him, Rick assumed one was graded and one was in the process of getting there. 

"Rick. How good that you're here," Mr. Van Dyke called to him. He leaned to the side, looking past Rick as if searching for someone. "Where's Kyle? I thought he was coming, too?"

Frozen. Icy and brittle. Rick felt his blood thicken and slow in his veins. Kyle wasn't there? 

"No, he's not. I thought he was coming with you?"

Rick hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud and shook his head at Mr. Van Dyke. "No, I stopped by his house and his dad said he'd already left." His mind was screaming that he knew what had really happened. "Mr. Van Dyke, please call the police and tell them to go to Kyle's house. I think something horrible has happened."

**__**

Two Hours Later:

Rick sat on his front steps, his arms looped loosely around his drawn up knees. No one was home yet. He didn't know what to do. He felt like he was screaming inside. Just screaming; one long, breathless, drawn out yell that made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end.

He'd been allowed to go home when the news had gotten back to him. It wasn't as if he'd been doing anything important. No work, in any case. He'd been standing stark still in Mr. Van Dyke's classroom, his back to the wall, windows on the left, the door that he watched with a single-minded determination on the right.

When it slid open and two uniformed officers stepped into the classroom, their faces hard and grim, Rick had felt his stomach slide to his feet. He'd felt like throwing up. He wanted to scream and rage.

"Richard Riddick?" one of the officers said quietly, stepping forward. His hands were gripping his belt on either side of his buckle in stereotypical police fashion.

Rick nodded, pushing smoothly away from the wall and standing up straight, cocking his head slightly to the left, left thumb hooked in his belt, his right hand hanging loose at his side and rocking back on his heals. It was an unintentionally defensive pose. "I'm him," he said quietly.

"We wanted to ask you a few question."

"About what?" Rick asked, eyes narrowing slightly. He was bigger than the cop and knew he could come off as threatening despite his youth. It had been the source of many problems in his past.

"Kyle Sullivan."

"Okay."

"Did you see him this morning, on the way to school?"

"No. His dad said he'd already left when I got there." Rick could feel his skin crawling. Why wouldn't they just tell him how bad it was?

"Is that so." This from the other cop. He was typing into a little computer attached to his forearm. Shorthands, they were called. Rick had scraped and saved to buy one of his own for notes.

"Yeah. So how 'bout the two of you tell me what the fuck is going on so I can go see my friend. We both know his dad must have beat the shit out of him again if you're here asking me stupid questions."

"You know about Evan Sullivan's abusive relationship with his son and wife?" the first cop asked.

"Yeah. And so do you guys. Glenna has been to the police station and the hospital lots of times. Now, where's Kyle?" Rick took a menacing step forward, his left hand dropping to his side, fingers flexing. He knew he was being rude. Unreasonable. Physically threatening armed policemen. It didn't matter. What mattered was Kyle.

"Just tell him," the second cop said.

"Rick, we're sorry, but Evan Sullivan beat his son to death last night and stashed the body in the attic. Kyle's dead."


	2. Chapter Two

****

Lost

__

Chapter Two

Rick was still sitting on the front stoop when Linda came home. It was only one o'clock so Rick wasn't surprised to see the look of worry on Linda's face as she walked up the front path to him. Her brows were creased in a frown and she kneeled down, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, her blue eyes meeting his dark brown ones.

"Rick? What are you doin' home already, darlin'?"

He tried to open his mouth. His strength had been sustaining him since he'd gotten the news. Now he could feel that it was about to give out. He couldn't hold on to his stoicism in the face of Linda's loving kindness.

He choked as he tried to speak, the tears suddenly spilling down his cheeks to drop off his chin. Rick hurled himself at Linda, almost knocking her down with his superior weight and size. But she just rocked back on her heals and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, holding him tight. 

Rick sobbed against her throat, burying his face there as he stumbled over the words. "Kyle. His dad killed him last night. He killed him! The fucking bastard killed him!"

He felt Linda tense and shudder, her arms tightening even more around him. He hadn't realized how strong she was until that moment. "Oh God. Rick, oh baby. Oh God. Evan killed Kyle?"

Rick nodded. "He beat him to death with a baseball bat and then hid his body in the attic. Glenna's in the hospital with a fractured skull and broken arm. They're pretty sure she'll make it, but Kyle's face was bashed in."

When the police had told him Kyle was dead, Rick had refused to believe it. He'd ran to the hospital, catching the local transit to get there. The cops had tried to trail him but he was quick, using back alleyways. They were waiting for him at the hospital but he was bigger and too determined to be stopped. He bowled his way to the morgue, demanding to see the body. When they wouldn't show it to him he started ripping sheets away from the bodies laid out on steal tables. The third one had been Kyle. 

Stripped bare except for the sheet, Rick had been able to see all the damage Evan had inflicted on the boy's body. His head was caved in on the left side from a crushing right handed baseball bat swing; the finishing blow the coroner told him as he recovered from his vomiting. His ribs were cracked and misshapen from the intensity of the baseball bat blows.

The coroner said the beating probably lasted for a while before Evan finally crushed his head with the bat. He said it would have taken more than one swing to inflict that level of damage.

Rick sat in the tight circle of Linda's embrace for two hours. The other kids came home from school, their faces masks of shock. They'd gotten the news just as school was letting out. Linda stayed quiet, nodding the kids into the house and rocking him back and forth, crouched on the stoop.

Rick knew her legs must have been aching terribly from sitting that way for so long but she never moved or grimaced, just held him close as she would her own children.

"Linda?" he asked quietly, feeling nauseous. This was something he'd wanted to ask her for a long time but had never had the courage for. He'd been too afraid of rejection but now a part of him needed it terribly. An affirmation in the form of words.

"Yeah, darlin'?" she asked, pulling away a little to look him in the eye.

Rick glanced down between them at the concrete ground. He forced himself to look up at her and felt a sob shake his chest and shoulders. "Can I call you Mom?"

Linda sucked in a breath and he saw tears well up in her eyes. "I would love it if you did."

Rick felt almost guilty at the joy that filled him in that moment. Guilty for having so much joy in his heart when his best friend was lying cold and still in a morgue drawer. The reminder was enough to make him shudder once more and Linda pulled him close again.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's not okay that Kyle is gone, but it's okay to hurt, Rick. It's alright to cry about it. It doesn't make you weak to have loved Kyle. And it's okay to have loved another boy. He was with you through everything and you did your best to protect him from Evan. I know he loved you."

Rick nodded mutely against her shoulder, thoughts of murder in his mind. Revenge.

"Let's go in, okay? You can try and eat something and wait for Dale to get home."

------

Rick woke up early the next morning despite not having finally drifted off to sleep until about four in the morning. Visions of Kyle's caved in skull had haunted him continuously throughout the night, refusing to leave him alone. He'd woken up in the midst of a nightmare where he'd been standing by helplessly as Evan beat Kyle with the baseball bat, the hollow thud of wood meeting flesh and the sickening crunch of bone filling his ears.

All he'd been able to do was watch, a fly on the wall. He'd woken up just as Kyle had died, sweating and panting heavily.

The sky was still dark as he pulled on jeans and a t-shirt. He pulled on clean socks before grabbing his sneakers and heading for the back door. He pulled on his shoes outside the door then checked that his blade was secured in his waistband. It was plastic, carved and honed sharp as a razor blade. It had been his midnight project, designed for what he was preparing himself to do. It would go through the metal detectors at the police station easily.

Eddie's new mountain bike was secured to a rail concreted to the ground on the side of the house and Rick put in the combination for the lock to get it free. He was pretty sure he'd be getting a new bike for his upcoming birthday, too, but knew that he'd never find out now. Not after he'd completed what he was going to do.

"Sorry, everyone," he muttered under his breath before climbing on the bike and taking off in the direction of the police station where Evan Sullivan was being held.

It wasn't too long a ride, Rick estimated it to be about three and a half miles and was locking the bike up outside the police station in under a half hour. He walked into the police station, feeling a strange numbness filling his limbs.

Rick passed through the metal detectors set into the door jam on either side of him, holding his breath. When they didn't go off he let out a sigh of relief and passed into the small anti-room. A female officer was sitting behind a high counter just inside the inner doors of the police station, flipping through a stack of papers. Her black and gray uniform looked starched and pressed and Rick automatically pegged her as a rookie. As he approached the counter the woman looked up at him with steel gray eyes and her mouth turned into an easy smile.

"How may I help you?" she asked, letting the papers in her hand settle back on the counter.

Rick didn't smile but tried to keep from looking nervous and angry. "I'm looking for Evan Sullivan," he said quietly.

The woman's face went from open friendliness to guarded caution. "You are, are you."

"Yes, ma'am," Rick replied, falling easily into the pattern of well-taught manners.

"What business have you got with him?"

"I just want to talk to him." 

"Do you know what he's here for?" the woman asked, all pleasantness gone, her tone brisk and businesslike. 

"Yes, ma'am," he answered. "But I wanted to hear it from him."

"Hold on." The woman stood and went deeper into the room behind her, approaching a plain clothes detective at his desk. The talked for a moment, with the woman officer gesturing to Rick over her shoulder. The detective looked over the woman's shoulder to gaze at him and Rick tried to keep from shifting nervously from one foot to the other, forcing himself to be still and composed.

The detective leaned forward and said something else to the woman then nodded his head. Rick read his lips: "Sure. Let the kid see the bastard."

The woman officer returned to the counter and looked at him shrewdly. "What's your name?" she asked him.

"Richard Riddick," Rick answered.

"All right, Riddick. You can see Sullivan for a moment, but that's it."

"Thank you," Rick said, dropping his eyes slightly.

"C'mon," she ordered and lifted a section of the counter set on hinges to allow him through.

Rick followed the woman through the station to the back where she opened a steel door and directed him to sit at the table that sat between two metal chairs in the center of the room. Rick did as he was told.

"I'll bring in Sullivan," the woman said and Rick nodded.

He waited in the room for what seemed like forever. He could feel the seconds ticking by like hours and wondered if he had the guts to do what he'd come to do. To finish the life of the man they were bringing him. He was nervous but Rick knew he had to do it. That was enough to strengthen his resolve.

The door opened after what seemed like years and Rick turned to see Evan Sullivan shuffling into the room, chains on his ankles, connected to a belt at his waist, and then to a set of far spaced cuffs on his wrists. At the sight of Evan's black eye and split lip Rick felt pride flush through him for Kyle, knowing his friend had fought back.

Evan moved slowly, like a man in pain and Rick hoped his ribs were busted some. Evan glared at him and Rick didn't react.

"You've got five minutes, Riddick," the woman officer said and shut and locked the door behind her as she left.

Evan seated himself across from Rick, but Rick ignored him for a moment, searching the room. He found what he was looking for and sighed. There would be no way out, two cameras were mounted in the corners of the room, recording everything that was happening in the room.

"What the fuck do you want?" Evan snarled when Rick continued to ignore him.

Rick's black-brown eyes snapped to Evan's face and his lip curled in disgust. "You're a fucking bastard ass, woman beating coward, you know that, Sullivan?" Rick snarled back.

Evan's face twisted in rage. "Did I mention you're ugly?" Rick added quietly. He was fingering the grip of his shiv beneath the table. It was almost time, he just had a few things left to say before he could end it.

"What the fuck do you know, orphan?" Evan spat.

"I know that no real man beats his children or his wife. That no real man drinks himself into forgetting and hurting unless he's trying to escape the facts he knows to be true in his own mind."

"And what facts are those?"

"That you're a weak, sniveling, poor excuse for a piece of shit and that nothing in this world will fix that. Not drink, not beating your wife, and not killing your son, the only good thing you ever made in this world, with a baseball bat just because you suck balls."

Evan lunged at him, quite suddenly, across the table, but Rick was quicker, and expecting the attack. He jumped back, shoving his chair across the room into the wall behind him. Evan was halfway across the table now and Rick whipped out his shiv and pressed it coldly against Evan's throat.

"I want you to know who did this," Rick said as Evan went completely still, his eyes going wide enough that the whites shown around his pupils. "I want you to know a kid sent you to hell."

The door was flung open just as Rick pressed the blade in tight and yanked it across Evan's throat. Blood sprayed across Rick's arms and chest and face, but he didn't flinch.

The woman officer and the detective were both staring at him from the open door, faces crowding the door to stare inside at him around the officer and detective.

Rick dropped the shiv and held out his hands to them, then he turned his face to one of the two cameras and said, clearly, "I'm sorry, Mom."

------

__

"It happened late one night six months ago in the low-rent district. The story that we've all heard so many times coming to the expected ending; a young boy, Kyle Sullivan, age fourteen, was beaten and murdered by his father, Evan Sullivan, with a baseball bat.

"The boy's mother, Glenna Sullivan, was also beaten, but was released from the hospital with broken bones and a few other minor injuries two weeks after her son's murder.

"The part of this story that made it surprising to the public was how quickly Evan Sullivan was brought to justice. Another young man, Richard B. Riddick, who was Kyle's closest friend, went to the police station the next morning and killed Evan Sullivan with a homemade plastic knife that the police refer to as a 'shiv'."

The Vibbards sat clustered around the holocube, watching the news. As the reporter talked a scene of Rick walking up the courthouse stairs, hands cuffed behind him, his head high, was being played. At the top of the steps he paused and turned to face the camera. A small smile crossed his lips and he mouthed a few words that the Vibbards all understood. "I love you guys."

Linda started to cry, leaning on her husband and the children at their feet huddled closer together, sniffling with grief.

__

"Riddick was tried for Sullivan's murder this morning while protesters demanded his freedom and called him a hero on the courthouse steps," the reporter continued.

"However, Riddick was convicted of first degree murder and awaits sentencing on Thursday at eleven am next week. It's expected that he will spend the next four years, until his eighteenth birthday, in a maximum security youth facility and will then be moved to the state prison to serve the rest of his sentence, which will likely be fifteen to twenty-five years. This reporter wishes Rick Riddick the best and hopes he gets out before then."

**__**

FINIS


End file.
